


Pride (II): Acapulco

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bi!Fitz, Bi!Hunter, FitzHunter - Freeform, M/M, PDA, Pride, Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7085851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Hunter on their trip to Acapulco. Includes longing looks and shameless sunset snogging. T for sexual references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride (II): Acapulco

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I may have lied there may be 4 Pride fics including the rather M rated sequel to this one if people are interested and/or it actually ends up being any good. Or complete, lets start with that. Let me know if you're interested. In the mean time, enjoy.

Hunter clapped his hands.

“So. What do you want to do first? Sleep? Eat? Drink? Beach?” He gestured various directions enthusiastically. Fitz was plane-dazed but the flight hadn’t been too overwhelmingly long or difficult, so Hunter was hoping he would shake it off soon.

“Eat,” Fitz agreed. “Eat is good.”

“Eat is always good.” Hunter grinned. “Right, what do we feel like? There’s Mexican, obviously, there’s a decent Japanese place…”

“What’s that?” Fitz wondered, peering down a side-street to where a crowd seemed to have gathered.

“I don’t know. Let’s go have a look.”

Hunter grabbed Fitz’ hand, in case his cautious side tried to get the better of him, and hauled him down the street and around the corner to the crowd that he had noticed. The attraction was a small courtyard, with a restaurant, and probably a few too many stalls wedged in. Lanterns and various coloured flags hung around the place, and a band played in the corner, obscured by the crowd. The most obvious part was make-up of the crowd itself: matching couples walked and danced and draped themselves over benches and tables; men danced with men; women kissed other women. Copious make-up and glitter, and ill-fitting clothes worn without shame, highlighted couples and individuals vigorously celebrating parts of themselves they usually kept hidden. Fitz stopped to stare in wide-eyed wonder, and barely even noticed when Hunter brushed past him, braving the throngs of people to track down some food.

As Hunter returned, two bulging foil-wrapped burritos in one hand and two bottles of beer in the other, he couldn’t help be struck by the way Fitz’ eyes shone in the lantern light. He was amazed, with a distant grin on his face like he had entirely forgotten his body existed, even though his feet were still holding him up as he turned on the spot, admiring the vibrant life around him.

“Baila! Baila!” called a group of men, reaching toward Fitz to pull him into the throng. Their smiles were enthusiastic, inviting – maybe a little too much – and Fitz stuttered for an appropriate response.

“He’s taken, mate!” Hunter called. “El es mio!”

The men groaned and boo-ed, and Hunter grinned, puffing up his chest as he stepped into Fitz’ space and looped an arm around his waist.

“Wanna go somewhere quieter?” he whispered into Fitz’ ear.

“Yeah.” Fitz smiled.

“Bye, fellas!” Hunter called, steering Fitz away from the crowd.

“Adios!” Fitz called, laughing as they rounded the corner back the way they had come.

“You alright?” Hunter checked, passing Fitz his beer and burrito.  
  
“Yeah, ‘course!”

“I just thought Pride nightlife might not be your thing. It can get…weird.”

Fitz shrugged. “I’ve shot aliens into space, I think I can handle it.”

Hunter hid a sly smile behind the lip of his bottle. _You naïve little thing._ But the seedier thoughts that arise at this observation faded as the street they were walking down came out at the beach.

Colours flew here too, Pride and otherwise, and even though the sun was setting people were still running, chatting, throwing balls and Frisbees, chasing dogs. Fitz took a bite of his burrito and glanced at Hunter, who walked with an easy familiarity, like he’d known this area his whole life. He remembered how often Hunter had used to mention Mexico, and wondered if there was a reason he’d chosen this particular country of all others to love. _They know how to have fun_ , he probably would have said; _they know how to throw a party_ or _they play a decent game of football._ But watching Hunter pick up a ball and toss it back to a pair of children playing on the sand, Fitz thought that couldn’t be it. It seemed like Mexico was a home for Hunter. Perhaps when he had been working with Hartley and Idaho they had spent a lot of time here, who knew. Maybe, Fitz thought, he would ask one day – just not today, because Hartley and Idaho were gone and he didn’t want to bring up old wounds when they were supposed to be having a holiday. Instead, he trailed Hunter to the jetty, and watched him lean on the railings and stare out at the sunset, take a deep breath and sigh slowly.

“Tell me honestly,” Hunter requested, after a while, setting down his beer bottle on the wooden railing. “Did you ask them to send us here?”

“No, I had no idea. Why?”

Hunter smiled, and after a moment’s thought, balanced his burrito on the wooden railing and turned. All at once, he swept toward Fitz, one hand at his waist and one by the side of his face, embracing and guiding him. Caught unawares, Fitz inhaled against him, and dropped his burrito and almost tipped out his beer as he reciprocated Hunter’s advance. Fitz’ fingers found no grip on Hunter’s leather jacket, so wandered underneath it, grabbing at his shirt instead. Hunter by now had moved both hands to Fitz’ hips, having decided that their mouths were close enough together.

“Can’t do that at home,” Hunter breathed, when they broke apart. Fitz smiled at him.

“Why not?”

Hunter smiled at his endearing expression. It was heartwarming to see how comfortable he’d become with all this – not so long ago, any implication of being out anywhere near home would have had him squirming in discomfort. In fact, more than heartwarming, it was starting to make the back of Hunter’s neck feel hot. He hooked his thumbs through two of Fitz’ belt loops, and spread the rest of his fingers out, to pull their hips closer together, flush against each other.

“You’d be willing to snog me in front of the Scott Monument then?” he wondered, as innocently as possible, as his fingers sought to learn the curves of Fitz’ ass.

“Probably,” Fitz teased. “Jamaica Bridge, definitely.”

“Definitely? Should I hold you to that?”

“Feel free.”

“Won’t even be frozen over at the moment.”

“You know what is frozen over at the moment though?” Fitz pointed out. “Our bank accounts.”

“I don’t think they’re frozen, technically, they’re just empty.”

“Yeah, that makes a difference,” Fitz snorted. “I’ll just have to start talking Daisy’s ear off about back home. I’m sure she’ll love that.”

“Ah, you jest, but she would.”

Fitz smiled, because Hunter was right, but it felt inappropriate to talk about Daisy while standing like this - not just because Hunter seemed to be taking great pleasure in feeling him up, and not being particularly subtle about it either, but also because the romantic glow from the setting sun and the vibrantly celebratory atmosphere of Pride was making him feel a strangely powerful combination of smitten, and confident.

Fitz let his beer bottle drop to the floor, and pressed into Hunter’s embrace, stepping forward between his legs and driving him backward until Hunter was pinned against the railing.

Thrown off-balance, Hunter grappled for a hold in Fitz’ shirt, only finding one once his back was against the railing and Fitz had a fist between them, bunching up his t-shirt, pulling Hunter forward to continue the kiss until they both ran out of breath.

Hunter raised an eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge?”

Fitz smiled sensually, and slowly leaned in for another kiss.

“I think – we should – go back – the hotel room,” he proposed, between kisses.

“I think,” Hunter teased, pausing so that Fitz would the movement of hands back toward his belt. “That’s a great idea. Pride will still be here tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Baila = imperative of dance, ie you dance/"come dance!" in Spanish, according to my copious* Internet research.
> 
> The Scott Memorial is in Edinburgh (capital of Scotland) and the Jamaica Bridge is, again thanks Internet, a local name for Glasgow Bridge, in Glasgow, which is where I believe Fitz is from (bc Iain is from there).
> 
> PS the potential M rated sequel will not be about things getting weird, I can barely handle writing vanilla sex. Although you're welcome to write something weirder than that and letting me know, I guess.


End file.
